Judge — August 16, 1884 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE JUDGE. JOURNALISTIC HOW ONE MIGHT REASONABLY SUPPOSE THE iL | oe UA fut 7a Joes “ENTERPRISE.” PORTRAIT CUTS IN OUR DAILY CONTEM- VORARIES WERE MADE. so there was a tinge of bitterness y joy. Iwas free, it istrue, but all my kind neighbors looked at me with ‘Poor Miss Tompkins, poor old ing the willow for that boy. While the waters of aftliction yet over- whelmed me, my godmother, Miss Tabitha ‘Tattle, invited me to luncheon. My god- mother was something of a 4on vivant, being proud of her cuisine, but she very rarely asked any one toluncheon, so I knew that this special entertainment was got up to console me, and divert my mind from my sorrow. My godmother came in person to secure my Presence. There shall be no one there, Tabitha, ar, that could be the least unpl nt for uu to meet, only myself, and thetwo Smalls, and Mrs, and Miss Gleaner. — It will divert your mind and be good for your spirits. How is your appetite, my dear? Any little 1 dish you fancy good for your wounded , love, confide in me. What can you eat?” Lrestrained, successfully restrained my impulse to swear, but I wished I had a male relative, a big brother, or some one, to do it for me. I knew denial or remonstration was useless. I must let them take my broken heart for granted and heal it their own way, So I only replied meekly: mother, I am very well, and can eat anything. I am sure to like your good things.” «Well, au revoir, my poor child, be with me at one o'clock, and employ yourself and try to keep up your spirits.” IT need not I was there at one o'clock, that [ ate little breakfast, so that the Smalls and Gleaners might not fancy that Jakey had spoiled my appetite. ‘ Oh! how I will eat,” thought I, ‘I'll clear the table and call for more.” Alas! ‘* the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agle Godmamma always aimed «1 small, elegant, tempting luncheons. She hated large, vulgar joints at noon, ‘The first thing we had’ was soup. Soup is a thing I never eat, never have, and never could, but I helped myself largely to the next dish, little nondescript round balls— Oysters and little fishes! I never could swallow oysters from my eurliest child- hood, I loathed them. I was fore my godmother to ex on my pl ‘They all si the company, dear re: —and godmamma said, *¢ Yes, of course, my poor dear, don’t stand on ceremony, we all quite understand.” ‘The next thing was stewed kidneys, I dared not attempt them, I conid never cat kidneys. ‘The next dish was an Indian curry, hotter than Tophet. It burned my mouth, it scalded my throat, it forced the tears from my aching eves. I could noteat it. Wasitnothard? Oysters, kidneys, and curry, the only three things on the face of the earth, that are used for haman food, that I cannot cat. It was an awful moment for me. 1 wished I had never been born—I wished no one had ever been born—I_ wi: godmamma’s cook had been choked before she cooked that fatal meal, hatefal woman! | was in despair. | entertainment for me. The ladies murmered, “ Poor soul,” and all stopped eating to gaze at me. Old fool! that lam. I have, and always had an inconvenient habit of blushing. I have never been able to conquer it. + | amounts to a disease with me. A paroxysm | of it came on. Godmamma handed me a fan, Mrs. Gleaner gave me water, M opened the window, but I had re pitch that all the ice in the Polar regions would not cool me. Oh! it was a gruesome We had cheese next, I think. I only know that when we left the table I had partaken of nothing but ice eream, and had left my neighbors more than ever convinced of the utter hopelessness of my condition. I returned home in a state bordering on distraction, and fully resolved to devote a week to steady practice in the art of eating soup, cheese, kidneys and oysters, and go I did. clearned to love them all, but to love my neighbors 1s still a pass beyond the skiil and endurance of a tormented householder like Tapitaa TomPKINS. Dean George William Curtis Complainining won't hurt us, Finding fault never won a campaign, Your sballow pretension Is hardly worth mention, And the mud that you throw will not stain, Dear George William Curtis, "Tis well you desert Now we know your “ Reform" is a sham, Your dudes of perfec Will scarce t And your bolt—won' inspect nount to ad—n BESSY EOCOEERTY A Brief Fourth of July Oration. TERN man ison record as making the briefest Fourth of July oration in his- tory. He had his sweech by heart, but the multitude frightened him.“ ‘Twenty years ago the place upon which you now stand was a howling wilderness!” he began. Not re- membering the next sentence, he repeated that one. There was immense applause. Still he forgot. Attempt No. 3 was as fol- lows: ‘Twenty years ago the place upon which you now stand was a howling wilder- ness - and—and—d—n me if I don’t wish it was now.”—Boston Star. His Mistake. “Say, Moses,” said a customer to u retail clothier, ‘‘ what is this story I hear about ou?” ae Vot shtory is dot shtory “Why, a friend of mine ‘said you made a mistake the other day and sold him a ten dollar coat for five dollars.” “Tow ish dot?” “T don’t know. He said he saw the fig- ures on the ticket and that your boy sold it to hiin.”"—Merchant Traveler. His Last Words. Te is a member of the Dude Club and there was a bad light in his eye as he came into the editorial lair. “T've got one for you,” he chirruped. “Pat it under a glass case,” growled the sanctissimus sanctorum; ‘‘the air might hurt it.” “What is the difference,” he went on, “between the Goddess of liberty and adetec- tive? One is always on the dollar and the other always on the scent.” So he died.—Denver Inter-Ocean, comicbooks.com